


Plenty of Fish in the Sea

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drowning, Eventual Smut, Graphic Description, Language Barrier, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-17 11:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Drowning.Dean remembers drowning.





	1. Chapter 1

Drowning.

Dean remembers drowning.

He remembers the dark murkiness of the water pushing on all sides, remembers the sting in his eyes and the burn of his lungs. He remembers the desperation as he tried to swim upwards despite not knowing where  _ up _ was. 

He remembers the press of cold lips to his, of the rush of air coming back to his lungs even underwater. He remembers being dragged to the surface, limp and so close to unconsciousness. He remembers seeing blue eyes with black sclera, the feeling of cold scales against his skin, the powerful  _ swish _ of a tail against his legs.

He assumes he was hallucinating from the lack of oxygen.

He remembers waking up on the beach, soaking wet and shivering and lightheaded. He remembers seeing Seth and Roman perched over him, frantic and concerned and wondering how the hell he got back. He remembers not having an answer.

Several days after he almost drowns ( _ technically does drown, according to Seth) _ , he goes back to the beach.

He doesn't know why- after all, he can barely swim (if it counts as swimming at all) and he's petrified of open water. He doesn't even know why he went to the beach with the others in the first place. Maybe it was a lack of judgement and forethought, or the bit of booze floating through his head, or maybe it was the way Seth looked at him like he'd start crying if Dean said no. Maybe it was because Dean's a fucking idiot. Whatever the reason, Dean had gone, and he'd fallen in and imagined getting saved by a gorgeous merman.

He sits by the surf, letting the water barely brush his ankles. He's fighting down panic, choking on anxiety as he stared into the neverending field of water. He remembers Roman's words from every trip they take to the beach to try and calm himself. “ _ It's okay Uce. Even if you can't get in this time, it's fine.” _ Roman always knows what to say.

Dean doesn't know how long he sits there before he sees someone.

Something spikes in his chest, a pang of familiarity and longing. The man is gorgeous, breathtaking, sitting chest deep in the water. His choppily cut brown hair is wet and pasted to his forehead, almost falling into bright blue eyes that rival the ocean. His skin is pale, his chest dusted with freckles and his shoulders stained red by the sun, as if he's been sitting there for hours. What looks like three long scars line both sides of his throat, deep and angry red in the afternoon sun.

Dean finds himself walking across the scorching sand, like his legs are working without his mind's consent. The man looks lost in thought, staring out into the horizon. There's a relaxed confidence exuding from the curve of his spine, and Dean almost doesn't speak to him out of fear of breaking the serenity flowing around the man. Still, Dean's never been good at leaving good things alone, so he sits next to the man and opens his mouth.

“You feel familiar.”

Dean winces at how creepy it sounds, how close to a pick up line it sounds. There's an uncomfortable silence for a moment before the man smiles and laughs.

“I'm Finn. Lucky for you, that line actually works on me.” He chuckles, offering his hand. He's got an accent, something Dean can't quite place. Irish, maybe, or Scottish. His voice is nice, matches the gentle smile on his red lips. Dean shakes his hand.

“I didn't mean for it to sound like a pick up line. I'm Dean.” He introduces himself as casually as he can, trying to act like he hasn't been staring at Finn's lips. Finn cracks a grin, revealing neat white teeth, and runs his tongue along his lips. Dean wrenches his eyes away.

Up close, Dean can see that the lines along Finn's neck aren't like any scars Dean's ever seen. They're deep set, not raised. It looks like they're moving as well, flexing. They look almost like gills.

Finn places his hands on his neck casually, covering the scars. Dean looks away, embarrassed. “Don't worry, I'm not judging. God knows I have a lot of scars too.” Dean says in a way he hopes is reassuring. Finn looks at him with wide eyes and a gentle smile, lips parted just so.

There's another bout of silence, but this time it isn't uncomfortable. It's companionable, enjoyable, easy. Dean doesn't feel pressured to keep talking.

“You don't look comfortable.” Finn says, voice soft, gentle, over the sound of the waves around them. Dean laughs a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Is it that obvious?” He asks, staring at the line of Finn's knee. He can see the other man's legs through the water, though they're a little distorted. His hands, which are resting along the hard line of his thighs, look almost webbed.

Dean's certain he's losing his mind.

“Little bit. Why are you here if you don't wanna be?” Finn asks. He doesn't sound like he expects an answer. It's like he's curious but he's not going to force Dean to reply if he doesn't want to. Dean feels eternally grateful.

“I, uh. I almost drowned out here last week when I was out with my friends. Someone saved me but I have no idea who. I just felt like I had to come back here.” Dean says, swallowing thickly. He leaves out the part about hallucinating a merman.

Finn nods softly. “I'm glad you're okay.” He says, voice barely louder than a whisper. There's something there, something a little far away, an emotion Dean can't quite place.

They sit and talk for awhile, until the sun dips low under the horizon. Finn's shivering, and Dean's right there with him. Dean notes at the back of his head that while he turns to leave, Finn doesn't move.

He turns to say goodbye, but he hears a splash, and Finn's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean dreams of the sea.

It's not like it was before; instead of nightmares about the depths, about the unknown, he dreams of glowing blue and black eyes. He dreams of plush red lips and razor edged teeth. He dreams of cold scales under his fingertips.

For some reason, he dreams of Finn. Finn has the same lips, the same eyes, the same edge to his teeth; Dean can tell by looking. Finn feels familiar, and for some reason, Dean associates him with the person who saved him.

He doesn't know why.

He starts going to the beach more and more, starts hanging out with Finn more and more. He tells himself and the others that it's because he wants to get over his fear, wants to get used to the water. Deep down, he knows it isn't the case.

Dean's never been accused of being smart or coming up with good ideas and rightfully so. He goes by himself one day, shaking Seth and Roman off his tail by spinning a lie about going rock climbing. Instead, he ends up at the beach, still in his tank top and jeans. He doesn't let himself think it through before he walks out as far as he can...and then keeps going.

He walks until the water reaches his jaw and then he keeps going until the sun feels like a distant memory and his lungs are burning. He lets himself sink down, forces the air from his lungs, and hopes to god he doesn't drown.

He's only down for a few seconds but it feel like an eternity, lungs burning and panic rising in his throat. He's starting to struggle, trying to get to his feet, to scramble to the surface, to do something so he doesn't die. It doesn't work, the sand pulling him in and his jeans restricting his movement. It forces him to breathe in and as water floods his lungs he realizes that he royally fucked up.

He's just starting to lose consciousness when he feels lips on his own.

His eyes open as air floods his lungs. He's staring into a pair of glowing blue and black eyes, sees brown hair, sees  _ Finn _ . But it isn't Finn, not really. There's something wrong.

The  _ not-Finn,  _ the  _ maybe-Finn _ , drags Dean up to the surface. He almost rips Dean's arm out of it's socket but he can't bring himself to care because he's above water. He can breathe. He's alive.

The creature that looks like Finn but isn't crowds Dean towards the shore, sharp teeth chittering angrily. Mile long nails are digging into Dean's wrist and he's limp in the creature’s arms.

When they get to the shore, after what feels like ages, Dean gets a good look at the creature.

His eyes are a startling combination of glowing blue irises and black sclera that seem to leak down his cheeks. His lips are  _ red _ , stretched too wide to reveal sharp, sharp teeth. His skin is pale, a greyish green in tone, just barely inhuman. Webbed fingers and ears accompany patches of dull green scales along his arms and cheeks. His muscular torso bleeds into a fish tail, lined with sharp fins. His caudal fin is ripped, loose, like gossamer ribbons hanging from the bottom of his tail.

The creature looks so much like Finn that it's startling, but at the same time, he looks nothing like the tender Irishman Dean's come to know.

Dean turns on his side, vomits up salt water. He spends what feels like hours trying to breathe again, mouth open as he gasps. His clothes are wet, socks soaked through, denim and cotton clinging to his skin. His hair air plastered to his forehead and his eyes still burn from the saltwater.

The creature-the  _ fucking merman _ \- sits next to Dean with his head cocked to the side. His long teeth are clicking against themselves, a noise that feels like a razor blade across Dean's nerve endings. He watches Dean shiver, watches him twitch, watches him try to keep his breakfast down as he empties his lungs and stomach of water.

“What the fuck.” He manages after a while, voice hoarse like he's smoked several cigars with no break. He manages to sit up, feels water slosh in his stomach, and knows he'll have to either vomit his guts out or have Roman drive him to the hospital.

The merman looks at him before making a chirping noise that Dean realizes is him trying to speak. He tries again and seems to get frustrated that Dean can't understand him. Dean, whose eyes are closed against the sun, hears a splash as the merman leaves.

The sound of footsteps against the wet sand, coming from towards the ocean, reaches Dean's ears, still heavy with water. He only blinks an eye open when he feels hands shaking him. 

Finn's standing over him, brow pinched with the same concern creasing his upper lip. His hair is wet and his eyes are a little red, and the scars on his neck are angry.

Dean absently realizes that Finn's scars match with the merman’s gills before he passes out.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes up in his bed.

That’s not the weird part; the weird part is that he feels completely fine. His lungs don’t burn, his eyes don’t sting, his stomach doesn’t feel heavy, and his head isn’t pounding. If anything, he feels great.

He sits up, and the first thing he sees is Seth pacing in his doorway. The younger man’s hair is tugged into a messy bun that barely contains his hair, and his eyes look red. It takes him a moment to notice Dean’s awake. As soon as he does, he descends like a vulture on prey.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He grits out, fingernails digging into Dean’s shoulders as he hugs him. Dean hugs back, his arms feeling lighter than they have in years. It takes him a moment to respond. 

“I don't know. I wasn’t.” His voice doesn’t sound rough, not like it should. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember was the beach and-” And Finn. And the merman who looked like Finn.

Seth sighs, smooths his thumb over a cut on Dean’s eyebrow. “Someone called me from your phone, said you washed up on the beach. Roman and I came and got you. You seemed perfectly fine when we got there but you weren’t conscious. For a second, I…” Seth trails off, and Dean knows what he isn’t saying, feels it in the pit of his stomach. 

_ I thought I had lost you. _

Dean sighs. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what came over me. I just.” He sighs, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair. “I felt like I had to go back. There’s something there, man, that’s pulling me back in.” He regrets the words as soon as he says them. He knows Seth is gonna grill him about it, won’t leave him alone until he finally spills. 

“What do you think is out there? You’ve hated water all your life, and now you’re at the beach once a week? What’s going on, man?” Seth asks. He looks confused, frustrated, concerned. He looks like he wants to help.

Dean suddenly feels sick.

“It’s nothin’, man. Forget I said anything.” He sinks low into his mattress, forces his head into his pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut, ignores Seth every time he tries to talk. Dean knows it won’t work, but a part of him is tempted to try and ignore Seth until he goes away. But Seth won’t go away. Not now.

“Did you see it, too?”

Seth’s voice is soft, hesitant. He sounds like he doesn’t want to talk, like he’s worried his words aren’t going to work the way he wants them to. He sounds so unlike himself that Dean forgets about ignoring him and rolls over.

Seth’s chewing on his thumbnail, gnawing ferociously on the skin peeling there. Dean knows he’ll bite through his callouses if he isn’t stopped. His hand comes up, grabs Seth’s, pulls it away from his mouth. He grabs the other one as well, makes sure Seth won’t start picking at his neck or pulling at his hair. Seth won’t look him in the eye, instead focusing on the scorch marks climbing across the carpet.

Dean stays quiet, doesn’t know how to respond. Even if he could find the words, his throat is dry, his jaw starting to lock. It’s not like he’s going nonverbal, though. It’s more like his brain, his body, is refusing to work. Instead, he looks at Seth, holds his hands and ignores the sting of Seth’s nails digging into his skin. Maybe if he’s silent for long enough, Seth will keep talking.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Seth does.

“When you...when you almost drowned, the first time, I saw something. I tried to swim to you but the current was carrying you away and I. I couldn’t. But I saw something. Something dark, cutting through the water. It grabbed you, dragged you back. It saved your life, Dean. It was gone as quick as it had shown up. Did you see it, too?” He asks again. His voice is meek, so damn small, and his shoulders are shrinking in. Dean lets go of Seth’s wrist, drags his hand down the wilted curve of Seth’s spine.

“I dreamt of it. I was so sure I had hallucinated whatever it was, so I ignored it. But… I had to go back. There was a part of me that still believed something had saved me, and for my own sanity I had to check. I didn’t know how else to get its attention, so I just walked into the water.” Dean rushes the words in one breath, doesn’t trust himself enough. If he thinks about it, he’d stop himself. He always does.

“It saved me.”

Dean and Seth sit there for what feels like hours, in silence. Dean strains to hear Seth’s heartbeat, tries to ground himself. His jaw is locked again, and he can’t pry it open no matter how hard he tries to. He wants to keep talking, has so much to say, but he can’t. His body won’t let him.

“If you go back, be careful. Don’t try to drown yourself, dumbass.” Seth bites out eventually, scrubbing a hand through Dean’s hair. Dean huffs a laugh against Seth’s neck.

“Will do, boss.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean returns to the beach two months later.

Not for lack of trying; he wanted to back every goddamn day, but Seth and Roman kept him back. It’s not that they didn’t trust him, it’s just that they...well, they didn’t trust him. And rightfully so; so far, he’s almost drowned himself and the year has barely begun. 

Still, he goes, albeit with Roman in tow. The older man jokes about it being a date night, ignoring the flush it settles across Dean’s cheeks. The drive to the beach is a long one, and the entire time, he’s practically vibrating. With nerves, with excitement...he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. Roman settles a hand on his knee, tries to ground him, and it doesn’t work like it usually does.

He almost sobs in relief when he sees Finn sitting in the water. 

He has to fight himself to keep from running, has to dig his nails into his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He steels his nerves, grits his teeth, and slowly walks over. 

He sits next to Finn, who grins a sharp grin at him. He looks gorgeous, the sun haloing his tousled hair and twinkling in his blue eyes. Dean has to stamp down the urge to kiss him. 

They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the seagulls fluttering through the air and the gentle lull of the sea. The water is licking against Dean’s knees, drawn to his chest, and he wishes he could blame his goosebumps on that.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on. I’m so confused.” Dean says after an eternity, eyes starting to dry from unblinkingly staring out into the water. He feels Finn shift next to him, hears the water splash, sees the shorter man squirming.

“I don’t really know how to explain it.” Finn chuckles, raking a wet hand through his hair. The action causes it to stand up on end, and Dean can’t fight his hand back when it reaches out to smooth it down. Finn nuzzles into the touch, head rolling back to push into Dean’s palm. The movement causes his gills to ruffle, a fluttery little movement that Dean almost doesn’t catch.

Dean reaches over with his other hand, traces the edge of the gills with a shaky finger. They don’t feel any different than the rest of Finn’s skin, maybe a little colder, a little wetter. Finn shivers, rolls his neck down, lips parted just barely.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Dean removes his hand, ignores the rock forming in his stomach, ignores the dryness in his mouth, his throat. “Just… tell me this. Are you the thing that saved me?” He asks, voice soft, hesitant. He doesn’t want to know if he’s wrong.

Finn doesn’t answer, just looks at Dean with lidded eyes and red lips. There’s something heavy in his gaze, an emotion, a feeling that Dean can’t identify. A part of him knows, deep in his stomach, but he ignores it, stamps it down. God forbid he gets  _ hopeful _ .There’s a moment of terse staring, of Dean tracing the lines of Finn’s lips with his eyes, of his gills, of Dean trying not to hyperventilate.

Then Finn leans in.

His lips are warm and wet, and the hand that comes to rest on the junction of Dean’s jaw is cold, slippery. His lips are a little chapped, a little dry, but Dean can’t find it in him to care. Finn crawls into Dean’s lips, knees bracketing hips, hands bracketing face. Dean’s hands come to rest on Finn’s slim hips, fingers flexing, nails digging into skin. 

Dean doesn’t notice Finn’s opened his mouth until a tongue slides across the seam of his lips and he  _ whines _ , low in his throat. His mouth falls open, lets Finn in, doesn’t try to take control, lets Finn set the pace. There’s fire spreading across every nerve ending, but wherever Finn touches, he feels cold, like he’s being burned by ice.

Finn pulls back after a second, out of breath and unsteady. His hands fall to Dean’s shoulders as he tries to steady himself, resting his forehead against Dean’s. He pants, air rushing against spit-slick lips, and looks at Dean through dilated eyes, pupils blown so wide his eyes seem entirely  _ black _ . “Come with me. I’ll explain this to you.”   


**Author's Note:**

> I'm tonyknees on Tumblr! Come bug me!


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